


A Vampire in Kinky Boots

by snowkatze



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Angst, Based on a Musical, Kinky boots au, M/M, shoe factory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-04 19:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11561886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowkatze/pseuds/snowkatze
Summary: Simon runs his father’s shoe factory, but the business is not going well. Fortunately, Baz Pitch is here to help. Whilst working together, things don’t always go as they hoped for…





	1. Take What You Got

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on the musical Kinky Boots, but you don't need to have seen it to understand the story. I plan on writing five chapters, but I'm not sure how it ends up. I hope you enjoy the fic :)

I tap the tip of the pen against the counter. Penny shoots me a scornful glance, but I choose to ignore her. After all, it's my factory on the brink of being closed, not hers. I hold the pen so loosely that it falls with a loud clank to the floor. Penny sighs reproachful, but I lack the energy to summon a feeling of guilt. I simply pick the pen up and continue tapping.

“Crowley, Simon, will you stop?” Penny snaps at me. Okay. I guess I deserve that. I suppose we're all rather drained. The clock says it's six minutes past midnight. I really shouldn't push her any further. Maybe concentrate on the real enemy. Money? Or rather, the lack thereof? The government? My inability to run a business? When in doubt, it's Baz.

“This is all Baz's fault,” I say.

Penny's gaze grows exasperated.  
“How can you possibly blame this on Baz?”  
“Well, I don't know what he did! Maybe he runs a competitive business that stole all our customers. Maybe he stands in front of our store every day, looking grumpy, to keep people away!”

“If that had happened, we'd know about it. Stop being ridiculous, Simon.”

“Still. I wouldn't put it past him.”  
“And why would he even do that?”  
“To spite me, obviously! That git. He always had it in for me.”

Penny only rolls her eyes. She used to argue me about this, but I guess she already endured too many conversations, always spiralling in the same circle.

“Come on, Simon. Stop kidding yourself. It's because the demand for hiking boots has severely decreased in the last few years. Beauty beats comfort. That's just the world we live in today. If you want to save this factory, you have to produce a whole different kind of shoes. Maybe something totally new and inventive. Something with a huge market...”  
“Like shoes that can fly, with little magic wings. A whole new Hermes collection.”

“Shoes that can cross any surface, no matter the environment.”

“Invisible shoes, so that it looks like you're barefoot!”

“I see,” Penny chuckles. “We're on a roll. If only we could actually implement any of these ideas.”

“Couldn't you spell the shoes?”

“Well, no, Simon. I'm not powerful enough and the spells wouldn't last long enough. It's not possible.”

We sigh at the same time and then silence falls over us. Maybe we should just go home and accept that there's nothing we can do to prevent the bankruptcy of our company. I wonder what the Mage – what Davy... I mean, my dad. What he would say about all of this. I can almost hear him.

He wouldn't blame Baz or the market.

“You're a disappointment, Simon,” he'd say. “You should've done better.”

Thank magic he's not here. No. I can't think that. I can't – I don't know what to think.

But it all grew over my head – I thought I could do this, having studied business studies at university. I thought I could take over my dad's factory but all I ever do is fail. There's no way I'm getting out of this. I'm going to have to fire all factory workers. And if I'm being honest this is nobody else's fault. This is all on me. Maybe I should've used different marketing. Maybe I should've improved our products. Anything.

I hit the pen a little too hard against the counter and it breaks in three pieces. The ink cartridge meets the ground and rolls a few centimetre before it comes to a halt. I watch as the ink drips out and forms a little pool on the floor. Things are so easily broken.

There's a sudden noise ripping me out of my thoughts. Penny looks up. The motion triggered lights in the abandoned factory flicker on one by one. Somebody entered the factory. At this time of the day?

I can see a silhouette on the other end of the factory. A shape that seems familiar to me and my breath catches on my throat. _It couldn't be...?_

The figure starts stepping towards us and I can hear a click-clack as the shoes hit the ground. The person's gait is confident and quick.

He's wearing tall red leather boots with high heels. Jeans shorts. ( _Jeans_?) A white tank top. His hair frames his face perfectly. His face is as symmetrical and flawless as I remember it. Except this time he wears eyeliner so sharp he could kill someone with it. (I think he _is_ killing me right now. I for sure do have trouble breathing.)

I can't stop staring at him, I can't think to say anything. Because. _Damn it._

It's Baz. It's really him. Except maybe I'm having hallucinations. I ask Penny to nudge me and she does, but he's still here.

I haven't seen him in seven years and three months. (I've not been counting. Have I?)

I stand up and the chair clutters on the floor. Baz comes to a halt only a few metres in front of us.

_Damn, damn, damn. Baz._

“Baz,” I say, because that's the only word in my brain right now. Thank magic Penny is here to think for me.

“What are you doing here, in the middle of the night?” she asks. I feel like this is an epiphany. What is happening? Maybe I'm dreaming. Me falling asleep over work seems like the most logical explanation for this. Even though I said he'd try to sabotage us, I believed he didn't even remember my existence. Why would Basilton Pitch care about the people he knew in school? I imagined he'd live a posh life as one of those obnoxiously rich people, who wear suits every day and are practically married to their work.

Yet here he is. And I think I've been wrong about some things.

“What am I doing here?” he repeats and smirks. (Crowley, have I missed that smirk.) His words run smoothly off his tongue and I already feel inferior to him.

His eyes are glinting mischievously and I think he's made of trouble.

“I'm here to save your sorry asses.”

 


	2. Step One

I grip the edge of the table behind me as I lean against it. I can feel my breathing go irregularly and my palms go sweaty. I close my eyes, just trying to gain some calm. My heart is beating so fast, I think it might leap out of my chest and betray me.

Baz is here. I don't know what to think or do about that. I just know that I can't even look at him because I'm afraid he'll vanish if I look at him properly instead of just out of the corner of my eye. I'm afraid he'd see right through me if I did.

There's a messy storm inside of me and I want to close it all away, put it back into the box of Pandora that he opened.

I haven't seen him in so long. I thought we'd never meet again. I lift my gaze just for a second, just to avert it again as quickly as possible. He's still standing there, looking like a king. _A king in high heels._ There are so many questions I want to ask him. But I'm at a loss of words. I'm hoping that Penny will do the talking for me.

“What do you mean?”, she provides helpfully.

He sneers at me, like a tosser, and I know that, even though his appearance has changed, he's not different.

“I _mean,_ ” he starts, “I have a plan.”  
I'm so startled that I do look up and frown at him. What is he plotting? We're already on the brink of bankruptcy. All he can do at this point is give us the final blow.

“I think I know how to save your factory.”  
Save?! Something is not adding up here. Baz Pitch? Wanting to _save_ something? That can't be. All he ever does is destroy; he doesn't go around saving things. Is he lying?

Suspicious, I raise an eyebrow, trying to put all my disapproval into one simple glance. I don't trust him one bit.

“I appreciate the notion, Baz,” Penny says, “but people just stopped buying our products. There's nothing you can do about that.”  
“Sure I can,” he smirks and steps closer. He sounds so sure of himself that I almost believe him. But I _know_ Baz. Even after all this time, I know the way he plays the game. I know how he can twist anyone around his finger... and turn their heads.

Baz sits down on one of the chairs around the desks and props his feet up on the surface. Even though he attaches great importance to manners, he'll always go out of his way to infuriate me. Penny shoots him a glare that would terrify anyone else, make them take their feet to the ground and stumble out an apology, but all Baz does is stare back at her until she sighs and looks away.

“See, the problem with your products is that there is no demand – no one wants to buy ugly hiking boots. So, what if you were to produce a different kind of shoes. You'd have next to no concurrence, a niche market that'd be all yours – sounds good, doesn't it?”  
“And what kind of market would that be?” I chime in.

“Oh,” he says, keeping his eyes on me. “And there I was thinking you'd lost your ability to talk over the years.”  
“ _Baz_!”  
“Oh right. You never had one to begin with. My mistake.”  
“I thought you were here to help us.”  
“I _am_ ,” he explains,”but that doesn't mean I have to be nice.”  
“Baz,” Penny says, trying to get back to the point. “What are you talking about?”  
“I'm talking about boots. High heels. For men.”  
“Like...”

I glance at his red boots.

“Like those?”  
“Exactly. It would be great to have boots made specifically for men – and made to carry the weight of a man. A mostly unexplored market. What do you think?”

“What's in it for you?” I ask instead of answering. There's got to be a catch.

“I'm gonna be your business partner. Sort of. I can help you in the making of the boots and organize some models for you. Also, I'm part of the target group. Don't worry, Snow. You can be assured that my proposal is entirely selfish.”

I'm not entirely convinced by that, by I choose not to push it.  
“First we'd have to find a technique to make these kinds of boots,” Penny remarks.

“We'd have to readjust the whole factory,” I add.

“Yes,” Baz says and leans forward. “Its gonna be hard. You're gonna have to do a lot of work and put in a lot of time. But _are you in_?”

I look at Penny and I know what we're both thinking. Could be risky. Could be a complete flop. But I know what it is for sure – our only shot.

I have a weird feeling about this – especially since it is _Baz_ who suggested the whole thing. I grip the table a bit tighter. I see Penny nodding, only slightly. She's giving me the go.

“Alright,” I say. “We're in.”  
  
The next morning, the whole thing still feels like some sort of fever dream, but when I arrive at the factory, Baz is waiting for me. Instantly, my heart starts beating faster (Damn it.). But... I'm kind of glad it was not a dream. Even though his idea sounds absolutely insane, his confidence makes me hope that he's right, that we can still save this factory and all the jobs it provided.

The first thing we do is call a few of our workers back. Some of which can help us develop and design new shoes, and some who can do some marketing research to ensure we're not taking any unnecessary risks. If we want this to be successful, we're going to have to distribute our products the right way and make sure to use our marketing tools properly.

By midday, everyone is at work and in need of a coffee. Baz volunteers to get some.

“I need to get out of here,” he mutters.

“I'll come with you,” I say quickly. What? No. What is wrong with me?

Before I know it, I hurry after him. As expected, he ignores me completely, but I won't give up that easily.

“So you think this will really work?”  
“Of course it will work. After all, I'm here.”  
“Yeah, but... why are you doing this, really, Baz? What have you done, all these years, I mean, we haven't heard of you in so long... And... you've changed. I think.”  
  


He pauses and looks at me for a moment, with a sad expression that I'm not able to read.

“Isn't that a good thing?”  
“I- I don't know.”  
He picks up a faster pace and I stumble over my feet.

“Look, Baz, I wasn't trying to offend you or anything, it's just... I thought you'd made something, I don't know, _more_ than this.”  
“I don't have to listen to you judging me, Snow,” he scoffs and pushes the door to the bakery open.

“No, I wasn't... I mean...”

I take a frustrated breath. Why can I never express myself the way I want to?

“I mean that you used to have dreams, Baz. You wanted to graduate, I mean, you _did_ graduate on top of the class. Shouldn't you work as a manager, or... I don't know... scientist, building a rocket, or something. Something smart and clever, making lots of money. Maybe even a footballer, I don't know. You were... are good at so many things. Shouldn't you be, like, in some sort of high position, in the middle of taking over the world? What happened to you?”  
“Simon Snow,” he smirks, raising an eyebrow, “are you _concerned_ about me?”  
“Oh, sod off,” I murmur and feel my face turning red. _Aleister Crowley, I shouldn't let him get under my skin like that. Not after all this time._

I take half of the coffees, he takes the other. Just when I think he's not going to answer my question, he replies in a really soft silent voice that I've never heard of him before and that makes my heart ache in a strange way.

“Let's just say, things didn't go as planned. And not everyone is as confident in my abilities as you apparently are. But I'm alright, Simon. No need to worry.”

I search his gaze, but he doesn't look at me and suddenly I have the urge to take his hand. (What the fuck?)

“Um... Baz?”  
“Yeah?”  
“I just wanted to say... Thank you.”  
All out of a sudden, he smiles at me. Really. Genuinely. Wow.

“No problem, Snow.”  
  


After hours of working our asses off, I lean back in my chair. Most others have already left (Baz, too) and it's just me and Penny. I look at our notes and smile at her.

“I think we've got this,” I say.

“Me, too. And we have Baz to thank for that. Who would've expected that?”

“Not me,” I whisper.

“No, not you. Maybe you've underestimated him.”  
“Me?! Underestimated Baz? How can you say that? I never underestimate the enemy. I'm always a step ahead, I know what he's plotting! I know that... he's always plotting something.”  
“Yeah, but he was plotting something you didn't expect. And he's not really your enemy, is he?”  
“No, I guess not...”

I smile to myself, when suddenly I notice today's newspaper laying under a few documents. It's the headline that catches my eye. It reads “Dracula on the Loose?”. Alerted, I push the documents aside to take a closer look on the article.

“Inexplicable attack happens in small town. A corpse that died of blood loss is found with strange marks on their neck. Or is there an explanation? Read here an interview with expert on the Supernatural.”

What is this all about? A vampire attack? _Here_?

I quickly read the article. Oh no.

“Penny,” I say. “Look at this.”

She frowns and picks up the newspaper.

“How could this happen? Do you think it's like, the real deal? Shouldn't the coven be taking care of this?”  
“Yeah, but it's not like you can rely on them anyways. I should investigate this.”

“No, Simon. Come on. This is not your responsibility.”

“Yes it is! We're mages, Pen. We're the only ones who know that vampires really do exist. And I'm the mage's... I'm... the chosen one... I mean, I was, and I can't just get rid of that sense of responsibility. You know I have to take care of this, Penny. Please.”  
She sighs.

“Fine. But, Simon. Be careful, alright?”  
“I always am, aren't I?”  
She doesn't bother to correct me.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone who left a comment or gave kudos to this fic :)  
> It's especially important to me since not many people know the musical Kinky Boots or are interested in it, so they're not gonna read the fic either. Have y'all listened to the musical? If not, go do so, because it's great.  
> But thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter ^_^


	3. The History of Wrong Guys

As I'm sitting with Baz in Penny in a café, I start to reminisce on what's going on in my life right now, whilst Baz and Penny chatter along. (They don't need me to make conversation. I guess I might be a bit jealous at how well they get along, considering my relationship with Baz is still bumpy. I wish there was something I could do about that.)

Working together with Baz, it's almost exactly like it used to be. And by that I mean way back in the past, before fifth year. Baz and I, we haven't always been enemies. Or rather, we didn't always want to be.   
When I make a joke at Penny (usually a not so well thought out pun), Baz forehead crinkles, and I can tell by the way the corners of his mouth twitch that he's trying not to smile. When we were still kids and barely eleven years old, Baz didn't smile a lot either. But sometimes, when Penny and I were laughing our heads off, Baz'd smile with us. And I'm talking the real deal here, teeth flashing and dimples, the whole package.

Back then, I thought to myself that I could make him crack, that closed-up mysterious boy. He bore so many secrets I knew nothing about. I made it my goal back then to get him to tell me all his secrets, but I never got him to. Only one.

During second year, we were locked out in the Wavering Wood, we laid on the ground and we were watching the stars. I took his hand and felt his gaze on me, and then he told me about his mother. How she'd died when he was five years old. How she was the one who'd hung the moon.

We were best friends. The way room mates that are cast together by the Crucible are supposed to be. It didn't matter who our families were; we were just kids after all.

Now I think back to these times a lot. I can't stop myself when he's around so much. Whenever out gazes meet and my heartbeat quickens, I blush and turn away, thinking how we used to be so close.

He never told me why. Why we were one day listening to music together and sharing our food and the next he couldn't even look at me. He even stopped calling me by my name. (He hasn't called me 'Simon' ever since. Not even now. I think maybe he never will again, and I can't stand that thought.)

I'm tempted to ask him now that so many years have passed and there's no such a thing as 'enemies'. But I'm too afraid that, the moment I ask that question, he'll be out the door and bailing on me.

But every day the tension inside me grows stronger and every night I fall asleep thinking of him.

Since a few weeks have passed already, we've made lots of progress. We've figured out a technique to make the shoes wearable for men, and we've also already got a few different designs. It won't be long before we can start the production and Baz has organized our participation in a fashion show.

Everything is going well and I'm a little excited as well as concerned. Things never go smoothly, exactly according to plan. Then again, I suppose the original plan never involved Baz in the first place. As it turns out, he's majored in business studies as well as marketing. And as I expected, the only job he does besides working for us is as a barista. (Not that he would've told me, but I happened to walk into the same direction as him when he left... Accidentally. Completely by hazard. And I saw him work behind the counter, but I never confronted him about it. I guess I like having a secret from him, for once.)

But he's brilliant at what he does. I can't imagine he couldn't have found a much better position somewhere else; and doesn't his dad run a business, too? He surely has lots of connections. I think there's something he's not telling me, but that's probably got little to do with (opposed to what I always thought) and more to do with him. He doesn't like talking about his personal life. And I think someone might've hurt him.

I haven't asked about his high heels either (He still wears them.). I guess it'd be rude to do so.

I'm deep in thought when suddenly Baz sets his eyes on me and I flinch like a startled squirrel.

Damn. I didn't mean for him to catch me staring. Staring? I guess I was, but not in a creepy way, just the way you might stare at a really beautiful painting. (Fine, maybe it is a bit creepy to stare at a human that way. But somehow I can't keep my eyes off him.)

And I don't really have an explanation for that. For any of that. For the way my skin prickles every time he barely touches me, the blushing, the staring, and my heart that goes crazy every time he's nearby. It's almost as if he's put a spell on me. A spell that makes me slowly go insane. And think about him all the time. Maybe it's a prank. _Ha ha, from now on every second thought you have will be about me. Very funny._

Maybe I'm getting sick. I can't really think of anything else that would make sense.

But suddenly Baz is smiling (really smiling), like he used to, with the teeth and the dimples and suddenly I'm burning on the inside. _Fuck_. My heart is swelling up inside my chest and I can feel myself smiling as well, even though I didn't even get the joke.

And then it hits me like a bucket of ice over the head. Because suddenly I acknowledge the urge to feel his smile against my mouth. _Fuck_. Am I fucking stupid, how have I not realized this before?

I think I have a crush. I can't. I think I'm falling for him.

 _Oh no_.

But then again, why not? I've been making bad choices all my life. _Are you gonna be another one of them?_

My heart starts beating faster and I feel my hands go sweaty. I used to think he was my enemy. But now? Now that I can see that really, he's just a boy... He's kind of cute. (Very. Very cute.)

I press my fingernails into my palms. Fuck. Abruptly, I stand up and the chair almost falls over.

I have to get out of here.

“S-sorry,” I stammer. Can I behave as anything other than an idiot in front of him? I never could. (I think maybe I've always felt this way.)

“I have to get going,” I mutter and stumble out of the café. And then I run, as if I could run from any of this. _You can't run from the truth, moron._

This is wrong. I can't be in love with him, he doesn't even like me. (If only he wasn't so bloody perfect... Then everything would be easier.)

I only get a few blocks further before I come to a halt. My condition is not the best. Out of breath, I prop myself up against a street lamp.

“Simon,” I hear someone say behind me and I immediately recognize his voice. I stand up straight.

“Wow,” I mumble bitterly. “ _Now_ you're calling me by my name. That's just great. _”_

“What are you talking about?”

I turn around and look into his infuriatingly perfect face.

“I just want to know why, Baz! You never told me. You just... vanished out of my life like it was nothing.”  
“I didn't vanish.”  
“No. You started tormenting me and started being my enemy. That's so much better.”  
My voice is dripping from sarcasm.

“I didn't start being you enemy! We were enemies all along. We never should've forgot that in the first place! I never should've let you get to me!”  
“Then what are you doing here?! If you want to be away from me so badly, why did you come back?”  
He takes a deep breath and shakes his head in frustration, as if I was acting like a stubborn child.

“You don't know anything, Simon,” he whispers.

“Then tell me! Just fucking say it to my face, you coward! What's your problem with me? Why did you suddenly start hating me? What have you been up to all these years?”  
“I've not _been up_ to anything.”  
“I -”  
“Don't act like you never did anything wrong, Snow. You started accusing me of plotting at any chance you'd get. Don't pretend like it _bothered_ you that I stopped being your friend.”  
“Yeah. You're right. I'm just a gigantic liar, that's it. I'm crying right now because I've never cared for you at all. Those are happy tears, you know. I freaking _like_ getting rejected.”  
“I didn't mean -”  
“I don't care what you meant. I want the truth, Baz. What do you even want from me?”  
He stares at me for a moment, I see his eyes shimmering. Then he shakes his head.

“Fuck you, Snow,” he hisses and turns on his heel. I stand for a few seconds, watching him leave, then I come back to my senses.

I didn't want to upset him like that. After everything he's done for me and Penny, I can't treat him this way. After all, that stuff is all in the past and he's helping us _now_.

I rush after him, even though I have no idea what I'm going to say. An apology would be good.

It takes me longer than I expected to catch up with him. He took many turns and kept his steps quick, almost as if he knew that he was being followed. Or maybe it was just because he was upset. It's almost like in fifth year, when I followed him around sometimes, just to figure out what he was doing. I never followed him when he went down in the catacombs, though, when he was visiting his mother's grave. That's where I drew the line.

When he finally stays still, we're in a dark alley. What could he possibly be doing in this part of the city? (Is this another one of his secrets?) Does he live here? Does he want to buy drugs? No, he's above that, isn't he?

I approach him slowly, while I'm still trying to catch my breath. I start getting suspicious when I see something in his hand. He leads it to his mouth... Wait a second, is that _a rat_? Is he drinking its blood?

I stop in my tracks. Is Baz...? No, he can't be.

_Sure he can't, Simon. Deny the truth when it stares you right in the face._

My blood runs cold.

Great job. Leave it to Simon Snow to fall in love with a blood-sucking vampire.

 


	4. Soul of a Man

“Simon?” he squeaks in a surprisingly high voice. For a second I almost stop being terrified of him. Then he drops the rat (gross) and I'm reminded again why I should never have trusted him. He's a vampire. And he's been killing people. (Great. I found the killer but I don't think that Penny is going to congratulate me.)

For a moment, I consider fleeing, but then I realize that this might be my best shot to capture him. Finally beat him. I can't believe I never noticed that he was a vampire. I mean, it really just takes a look at him. He looks like Dracula's and Edward Cullen's love child. I guess I just was friends with him for so long that I never would've taken him for a murderer. Yet here he stands. Having just murdered a rat.

I call the incantation for the Sword of Mages, and he looks at me with wide eyes, like a deer caught in headlights. My hand starts shaking. He doesn't look like a murderer. Just scared.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and regains his composure, like it's the easiest thing in the world. (Or like he's done it often before. How long has he been hiding this? Was he a vampire all along? Even when we were still friends?)

He runs his fingers through his hair and my heart starts beating faster. (No. Wrong. Fuck you, heart, stop siding with the enemy.)

I watch his eyes scanning the area and I know that he's weighing his options. He's got no escape route. I'm blocking his way.

“Look, Snow,” he says smoothly and sneers at me, lifting both hands as if to calm me, but his fingers betray him. They're shaking. He's putting on a show. He's just as afraid as I am right now. There he is, trying to play it cool. “I can explain, there's no need for that.”

He points at the sword.

I'm tempted to listen to him, but I won't fall for his mind games. So long as he doesn't figure out my weakness (my stupid, stupid heart), he can't use it against me.

“You've been killing these people from the newspaper,” I growl and take a step towards him.

“Oh shit,” he curses and backs up against the wall. I assume he doesn't have his wand on him, otherwise he would've used it instantly. And he knows me – he can estimate his chances easily. He knows he's at a disadvantage. I have my sword and all he has are his fangs. And to use them, he'd have to get close to me, which is not going to happen.

“So what, Snow?” he snarls. “You're finally going to get what you want? Here's a surprise for you: I've been dead all along. And it was someone else's doing! How does that make you feel?”  
“Who did this to you, Baz?”

“What, will you let me go if I tell you?”  
“No?”  
“Then forget it.”

I get closer to him, always holding the sword in front of me, ready to strike if he makes any sudden movements.

I still want to smooth the frown off his forehead. And I still want to kiss him. I am a fool.

“See, this is just another one of your secrets. Or... is _this_ the reason you've started hating me? Because you started killing people?”  
“No, that's not the reason. And I haven't killed anybody, Aleister Crowley.”  
“It's too late to deny anything. I saw the rat, Baz.”  
“Yes. Exactly. The rat. Why would I kill humans if I could kill animals just as easily?”  
“Because... their blood tastes better? I don't know. I haven't seen Twilight.”  
“Fuck, Simon, this isn't Twilight. This is not a story. This is real life, okay? I'm a vampire, that's real. I'm a monster, okay, is that what you want to hear? You've been trying to prove me something for years, here you have it. I'm a vampire. And you could kill me with that sword. That's real, too.”

“You sure I don't need a stake?”  
“I have no idea, Snow. I've never killed a vampire. But I'm pretty certain a sword through the heart would kill anyone.”  
What if he's not lying to me? What if he's really a harmless, innocent vampire? Then again, this is Baz Pitch I'm talking to. I don't know what to think. I just want to pause everything and try to make the right decision. But I can't slow down. If only he would tell me something. Something real.  
“Looks like we're in a pretty tight situation, Baz,” I hiss. “You've got nothing to lose. So you might as well just tell me, don't you think?”  
“What do you want me to tell you, Simon?”

He looks at me with exasperated, sad eyes and I know that he's given up. He's not looking for a way out any more. And somehow that terrifies me more than anything. Because I know that my sword against his neck is nothing more than an empty threat. I could never go through with it. I could never kill him. And I'd never forgive myself if I would. Not before he tells me. (Not after, either.)  
“Everything,” I answer.

“Fine, Snow. You got me. I do have another secret. But I'll take it to my grave if I have to.”  
“Would you really rather die than tell me?” I mumble and I know that I sound hurt. “I mean, maybe I could help you.”  
He averts his gaze and I hold my breath.

“Believe me, Snow, you don't want to know.”

“Fine,” I snap. “Then you leave me know choice.”  
“It's okay,” he whispers, “Simon.”  
And then he looks at me with shimmering eyes, as if he'd wanted to call me Simon one more time. I know that he thinks I'm going to kill him right now. He doesn't lift his gaze off me. As if I'm going to be the last thing he ever sees in the world. And I know that he does care about me, if only just a little. I'm starting to get angry. It's the kind of anger that's only there to eat up the sadness. It tastes bitter combined with my desperation.

“What the fuck, Baz,” I huff, “you'd just let yourself get killed in some dark alley way? You've really sunken low.”

“Hey,” he mutters and a tear runs down his cheek. _Fuck no._ I can't handle him crying. I'm so short of caving in. He's crying and I just can't believe that he's a murderer or a monster. And I hope that's not just my own insanity talking. “I'm the one dying today, you don't have to insult me.”  
“No, idiot. You're not dying today. I'm going to take you back to the factory, as a prisoner, and then you'll talk.”  
I notice his shoulders sinking.

“And this is not the way a Pitch goes down. You're a fighter, Baz. Behave like one.”

 


	5. Not My Father's Son

I know that the answers aren't in his eyes; I still can't stop staring at them. Maybe Baz thinks that I'm trying to intimidate him and just wait until he talks, but in reality I'm staring at them because I can't bring myself not to. I try to find something in them; the truth? Proof that he's a liar? What kind of realization could I even find there? His eyes won't tell me what to do. They're void of emotion. And yet it soothes me to look into them. They're familiar. Home. (Not that I know much about homes.)

I've spent so many hours thinking of his eyes, back at Watford, when I thought he was plotting. I always knew they were beautiful. People say that eyes are the window to a person's soul, but right now I'm not even sure that he has a soul. Maybe that's why they are no indicator of his emotions.

His eyes are grey storms and bad weather, dark alley ways, fancy suits, vampires, lies, death. But as I'm looking into them I realize that they're not dead at all. There's a spark inside his eyes that tells me that Baz is _alive_. He might be a vampire, but he's not dead. And he's not necessarily a monster.

This is what I've been looking for. I lean back and cross my arms. I brought him into the cellar of the factory and chained him to a chair. That way I can interrogate him until I decide whether to let the Coven take care of this, or whether I can set him free. (Can I dare to hope it's the latter?)

“Please, Baz,” I whisper. He surely can understand every whisper with his enhanced, supernatural vampire senses. I could've saved myself every trying to keep anything from him in the past. “Don't make me do this.”  
“I'm not making you do anything,” he presses out between clenched teeth. “You could just let me go right now. I'm not stopping you.”

“You know damn well that I can't do that. I can't risk you hurting anyone.”  
“Fuck, Snow, I could never hurt a human being. I would never allow myself to. Can't you just trust me?”  
I almost laugh.

“Don't act so innocent. I know what you are capable of. Remember when you pushed me down the stairs? Do I not count as a human?”  
He growls and shakes his head.  
“That was an accident. We were fighting. I just threw in a lucky punch, that's all.”  
Ha. Lies.

“Maybe you're not killing human beings, but I'm not buying that.”  
“See? There's nothing I could say that would make you change your mind. You are not going to believe me anyway.”

“You could say the truth, for a change.”

“Not happening.”  
“We could start with something small, alright? Baz... I don't want to do this either, can't you see that? I want nothing more than to let you walk out that door, knowing that you are innocent. Please work with me. What about the boots, for example? Isn't there a story behind them that you could tell me?”  
“I guess.”  
There's silence.  
“Fine,” I decide. “I'll go first.”  
That makes him look up and something inside me twists.

“I missed you.”

A surprised look, more silence.

“I- I mean. I thought I'd never see you again. And there hasn't passed a day that I didn't think about you at least once.”  
“Because you were wondering what I was plotting,” he mumbles. He says it as something definite, as though it is a fact. As though it couldn't be any other way. I need to show him that it can.

“No. I mean, yes, but only because I couldn't admit to myself that I just wanted to see you again, nothing more.”  
For a moment, he looks conflicted. Then it's like a wave washes over him and all the tension leaves his body.

“Alright. I'll tell you something. Remember what I told you about my mother's death?”  
“Yeah?”  
“That's when I was Turned.”  
“What?! But you were only five years old then!”  
“You think I chose this? You think I _want_ to be a monster?”  
“I – I don't know, I haven't thought about it -”  
“Of course. Because you always judge and act before you think.”  
I give him an apologetic look, because I don't want to interrupt him.

“And I don't know shit about vampires, Snow. I can't tell you anything about that. I wish I knew it myself, but I had to figure it all out on my own. In my family, we strictly follow the policy, speech is trash, silence is the key to the universe.”  
“I don't think that's how the saying goes.”  
“Wanna take a bet?” he says, cocking an eyebrow.   
His confidence makes me feel insecure and I stutter: “I- uhm -”

“I'm just messing with you, Snow,” he smirks, and I wonder how he can still be this cocky. “I was exaggerating.”

Then his expression changes to something gloomy.

“On the other hand, thinking of my father, it's perhaps not so exaggerated after all. I guess you could say he... wasn't so fond of me being a gay vampire.”  
“Oh.”  
“Yeah. You can imagine the heart-warming father-son talks.”

“None?”  
“Damn straight. Though we did have many lovely 'discussions'.”  
Strong on the sarcasm there.

“I'm talking arguments that often ended with a dead body. I mean literally, because bottom line, I am dead and he'd sometimes hold that against me. Obviously, we never called it an argument. And we'd never raise the volume higher than usual.”  
I know that Baz gets quieter in an argument instead of louder. I wonder whether it's the same for his father. I can imagine them, standing face to face and whispering in hushed, aggressive voices.

“And, well, I still was supposed to take over his business, because I always dreamed of pleasing him. Because when it comes down to it, we're all just ducklings, waddling after their mothers, like damned fools.”

I never would've thought I would've lived to hear Baz Pitch comparing himself to a duckling.  
“At least I was a damned fool for always seeking his approval. I was ready to die for the family honor. I was even going to pretend to hate the Chosen One, because he was the enemy.”

“Is that why you stopped talking to me?”  
He looks down and I can see he's debating whether he should say the truth or not.  
“No,” he mutters. “That's part of the reason, but no. I took business studies because I thought that's what he wanted. Afterwards, I started out as his employee, but it didn't work out and eventually... he kicked me out.”  
“I'm sorry, Baz.”  
“I don't need your pity, Snow.”  
“What about the boots?”  
“The truth is... I'm not my father's son. It was never easy to be his type of man. I just wanted an escape. I wanted to do something that was entirely me and nothing of him. I wanted to do something that's brave, and shows that I don't give a fuck about his opinions. So, my last day of work, I came in wearing these boots. I did make a great farewell.”  
There's tears in Baz' eyes and I just want to reach out my hand and push them away. He doesn't deserve this.

“So, yeah, maybe I am a coward who hides behind a pair of extravagant boots every day, but... I'm done trying to fit in. And I like pretending to be someone else, because I don't like very much who _I_ am. So now you know why I'm wearing them.”  
Suddenly he startles me with a smirk, and I wish I knew what's going on in his head.

“Also, it's because they suit me fantastically, don't you think?”  
I flush and don't answer.

“Okay, but that still doesn't explain why you suddenly distanced yourself from me.”  
“Snow...”

“It's fine, you don't have to tell me. I believe you.”

“Really?”  
“Yes. I know you. The you underneath all the pretence, I mean. We used to be best friends. You're not lying. You wouldn't kill or hurt anyone.”  
I see relief flashing across his face. I'm relieved, too. I don't know if this is the right choice, but I do know that I'm going to trust him, even if it takes me to my grave. So, I free him from the ties and wait for him to get up, but he doesn't. He just stares at the ground, like he's thinking about something.  
“Simon,” he says. Every time he calls me that, my whole body tingles. “I'm going to tell you. Why I left. And why I came back to help you. But you have to promise me that you are not going to hate me.”  
“I would never -”

“ _Promise_ me.”

“Fine, I promise.”  
He takes a deep breath, as if to brace himself.

“When I was fifteen years old, and I realized I was gay, it was because I fell in love with a guy.”

“W-what?! What guy?”  
“I fell in love with a complete idiot.”  
“You don't mean – you didn't – m-me?”  
“Yes. You. And as soon as I realized, I knew that I couldn't keep being your friend.”  
“Why? I would've understood, I mean, I would've -”

“Yeah, but I didn't know that. And 'understanding' wasn't enough for me either. I thought it was best for both of us if I kept you at a distance. And the only way I knew how to was to pretend to be hating you.”  
“So... You didn't hate me?”  
“Crowley, you're slow. No I didn't.”  
“But you keep insulting me.”  
“It's called 'flirting'.”  
“Really?”  
“No, idiot. If I was flirting with you, you'd know it.”  
“O-okay...”  
“And... well... After I was thrown out of my dad's factory, I didn't know what to do with myself for a while. I had no plan. I was helpless, I had no idea what to do. And when I saw that article in the newspaper about your factory, it was like a sign. Suddenly, my life had a purpose again. So, the truth is, I came back here to help you because I missed you, too.”  
Abruptly, he stands up.  
“And that's all I wanted to say.”  
He's still not looking at me. He ducks his head and walks past me. What? He can't just walk away after _that_.

I grab his wrist and he stops.

“That's a long time you wasted hating me.”  
“I wouldn't say _wasted_.”  
“Look at me, Baz.”  
He doesn't. I grab his chin and only let go when his eyes meet mine.

“Are you still in love with me?” I whisper, and maybe he would've lied, but I feel like he can't when he looks me directly into the eyes.

“Yes,” he whispers back. Suddenly I feel like I've got super hearing as well, because I could swear I can hear his heart beating.

“Well,” I say, “you're not the only one.”  
“What?”

I lean in until our noses are almost touching.  
“I'm still in love with you, too,” I mutter, because I'm sure I have been back then as well.  
“What- How- Simon.”  
“I'm serious.”  
“But – did you even listen to me, Simon? I just told you I'm a wreck. How can you say that, now that you know that I'm a vampire, are you _insane_?”  
“You're still insulting me. We'll have to work on that.”  
“Simon.”

“How am I supposed to not be head over heels for you when you keep calling me Simon?”  
He shakes his head, but I can see a smile beginning to form on his lips.  
“Hard to argue with that logic.”  
“Shut up and kiss me already.”

“Aren't you afraid I'll bite?”  
And then _I_ kiss _him._ I have to tilt my neck and stand on my toes, because he's taller than me even when he isn't wearing high heels. He came here to help me, but he's broken, too. I'm going to fix him. Well. I'll try my best. We're going to raise each other up.

I kiss him, and he holds my back and I know that this is the start of something new. And better. The start of something truly amazing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the last chapter, so I really hoped you enjoyed reading this fanfiction, and thank you very much for doing so ♥


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